It was summer 1961. My little brothers, ages 5 and 2, needed watching while Mom worked at the cannery.
I was 13 and knew it all — at least, all that could be gleaned from daytime TV shows. I never missed the game shows. My two little brothers drove me crazy because they were such an interruption to my activities: watching TV and talking on the phone.
One afternoon, the older one decided he liked our blue house paint so much that he painted our peach tree blue as high up as he could reach. Where was I while he was doing this, my parents wanted to know. It soon became apparent that a good day for me was dependent upon those boys’ not getting into trouble.
But surely, not even an adult would have guessed that the two boys chasing each other outside would meet explosively at the corner of the house. The older boy’s front teeth were embedded in his little brother’s forehead. Now, both of them were crying. Oh boy, I was in trouble again!
During my junior high years at Shumway, I discovered sewing. We didn’t have a sewing machine, so I had never been exposed to the idea that you could actually make clothes out of flat pieces of fabric. It was like I had just discovered ice cream! But where would I get a sewing machine? My folks couldn’t afford one, and my pay for baby-sitting each day was the biggest and juiciest pear Mom could find at the cannery.
I hit upon an idea. There was a daytime show called “Queen for a Day.” Three women’s stories were featured, and one was chosen to be Queen for a Day. Wow, the show piled gift after gift upon her — and, of course, she had a crown and was seated on a throne.
“That’s it,” I thought, “I’m going to write to the show. I’ll tell my sad story of being only 13 and taking care of two younger brothers in need of clothes. I could sew clothes for the whole family if I was crowned Queen for a Day!”
I watched day after day, but I never received an answer to my letter and of course was never featured on the show. I never mentioned anything about this scheme to my parents.
On another day, I saw two older teenage boys going door to door. When I opened our door to them, I was “in love.” They were so good looking. It turned out that they weren’t looking for a 13-year-old as a girlfriend — they were selling magazines. By the time they left, I had signed us up for over $200 worth of magazines.
When Dad asked where they came from, I showed him the order form. I truly did not understand what I had obligated the family to. My frontal cortex definitely wasn’t fully developed. Dad told me in no uncertain terms that I had once again done something I shouldn’t have. Would I ever learn? (Well, I have never again bought anything from a door-to-door salesman. I at least learned that!)
Inspiration strikes
I decided that the way to keep my brothers from becoming my worst nightmare was to “entertain” them. Leverich Park was about a half-mile away from home. I would pack a lunch for all of us, and we would spend the day there. Our next-door neighbor, Nancy, was also taking care of her younger siblings, so I talked her into going with us.
But first, the day’s housework. Of course, I flew through that. I’m sure I did it perfectly! I scorched only one of my Mom’s blouses. Funny, she never saw that blouse again. Anyway, after fixing a picnic lunch, we were off. The older siblings rode trikes, and the younger ones were in a wagon or stroller. Our only mandatory stop was TP Food Market to get pop and candy, which were an absolute need. Candy was a penny then, and pop a dime.
We continued eastward on 39th Street. When we finally arrived at the top of Leverich Park, we were all excited to get down there in a hurry to play. Leverich Park sits in a hole surrounded by a steep incline filled with fir trees; there’s a road that winds down to the actual playground but, being a smart 13-year-old, I decided that it would be much quicker to go down the steep hill than to take the long way.
First we sent the trikes, stroller and wagon down the hill, bumping and banging into many trees along the way. We all were fascinated by this spectacle. Now it was our turn. I held the 2-year-old in one arm and took the hand of the 5-year-old, and we were off. The trees did help keep us from tumbling clear to the bottom.
What an adventure! One we repeated many times that summer. The kids had a ball at the park. Our parents never knew how we spent our days!
